


Do Over

by HazelRiver



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fighting As Foreplay, Fingering, Oral Sex, Season 7 fix-it, Season Seven spoilers, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some angst, Sort Of, Soul bearing, brief mention of a pedophile but its not graphic and used in a v veep-typical analogy, but not too much i think?, cursing, idk they deserved some resolution, really bad language, selina and tom fuck after she ruins his life, show typical coarse language, so i wrote them fucking ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelRiver/pseuds/HazelRiver
Summary: Finale spoilers. After Selina convinces Michelle to go public with Tom's sexual misconduct, she and her entourage return to her hotel for the evening. On the way to her suite, Selina notices Tom hovering in the hallway. After getting rid of the hangers-on, Tom comes inside and they have words. Then they sleep together, then have some words, and so on and so forth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write Tom/Selina for a few seasons now but have always struggled with trying to discover what the characters actually think of each other. The finale sort of destroyed me, especially that last scene of Selina in the oval office. I couldn't help but wonder HOW aware she was of just how much she was sacrificing. On some level I think she knew, but how much did she allow herself to delve into and accept that level before having to harden her heart to what Gary's fate would be?   
> So here's lots of smut that tiptoes around those feelings in her.  
> Long first chapter, then there's a time jump and quick resolution in second.

Selina pretended not to notice him hovering near the elevators—a difficult task to accomplish with her growing entourage surrounding her and her inability to ignore him. Tom wore the same blue shirt as he had that afternoon, when he had interrupted her meeting and called her a cunt. The blue really brought out his eyes. She blinked, face trained in staying blank, and he blinked back.

The entourage was babbling, a constant nagging sensation that tugged at her ear even when she zoned them out. Gary was closest, nearly as close to her skin as the fucking dress he had zipped her into that morning, but Kent wasn’t far behind. They had taken the stairs up from the garage, hoping to avoid rubbing elbows with anyone else on the way up to the suite, and Gary was breathless and panting like a dog.

Tom made eye contact with her as the entourage passed him. He was pretending to speak into his phone (or maybe his wife had finally picked up) and he turned his back on them as she led her band of nitwits to the suite at the end of the hall.

“Ben, what the fuck is the name of that Howard Stern looking motherfucker from New Jersey?” One hand whipped behind her in the general direction of where Ben was usually found, at Kent’s elbow.

“Ben’s still in the hospital, ma’am.” Kent said, voice low and calm as if he was not shocked that she had already forgotten (he probably wasn’t). She wished Ben was there, but shoved that thought down as quickly as it had made its way to the top of her mind.

“Well call him! And back the fuck away from me!” Her shriek garnered the reaction she was looking for, all save for Gary froze on the spot. Her bagman slunk around her, wiggling the hotel key out of his leviathan until she heard the click-click of the door opening. “Jesus Christ! I’m getting claustrophobic here. I need some space!”

“Yes ma’am.”

A choir of agreements resounded from the group—Kent’s face, still one of absolute belief, the opposite of shock, did not shift as he glanced down at the folder in his hands. More numbers, no doubt somehow conjured and printed in the time it took them to park and climb the stairs. The rest of the crowd—who even were these suited thirty-somethings tagging along wherever Kent went? Were some her security, where the fuck were they going then?—dispersed, it was just her and Kent standing outside her suite.

“Should I leave these with Gary…or bring them back later?” He took a hesitant half-step forward, tapping his palm against the edge of the folder he held.

One fuck on the way to North Carolina and all of a sudden he was acting like she needed him. He had put a (smooth and sweaty) hand on her naked back afterwards, she thought that might have been the robot’s way of post-coital cuddling. Sure, a bushy mustache massaging her clit to celebrate a success was welcome any day of the week but come the fuck on, what did he think this was?

“Kent,” Her sigh leveled with him, “I couldn’t possibly care less.”

“Noted, ma’am.” His nod was perfunctory before he turned and made his way toward the elevators.

Fucking finally.

The door swung shut behind Selina and she immediately bent to remove her heels, tossing them over her shoulder as her toes wriggled in the hotel room carpet.

“Ow!”

The high-pitched screech sent her stumbling forward in shock with a yell of her own, clutching for the back of the couch as she turned to see the source of the feminine yelp. She half-expected it to be Catherine, back to whine some more about something arbitrary, but Gary stood grasping his shoulder instead. Her crimson heel was discarded near his feet.

“Gary!” She anticipated a high blood pressure headache boiling up if the evening continued in the manner it was starting, “Jesus Christ! I thought I said I needed space.”

“I didn’t realize—I thought I could make you some tea, draw you a bath, and start looking at options for tomorrow.”

His pathetic simpering almost made her regret her outburst.

“I’m not hungry…I don’t need that.”

Gary flinched.

“Do you know where I’m keeping your bath bombs now? I didn’t like the way they were getting smushed by the bottles of conditioner. I’ve been keeping them in the purple makeup bag-”

“Gary, I hate bath bombs.” He gasped like she had just admitted to eating babies, “I do. I fucking hate them. If I wanted a fast route to a UTI I’d call Dan.”

“What?” His eyebrows did that horrible seizure movement, as if they had been knitted together at the very center of his forehead.

“Never mind, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He continued to prattle as he left; he gave a warning of being back in the morning to dress her, even as he collected her heels and arranged them neatly by the door and shut it behind him.

It took Tom ten minutes to knock on the door.

While Selina waited— _I’m not waiting, I’m anticipating, he’s the one waiting_ —she peed (in true privacy for the first time in what felt like a year) and poured herself a glass of water. The AC clicked off and the room went silent.

Selina stood in the kitchen, her sore and bare feet splayed against the cool tile, and looked out over the dimly lit room. It was an isolated space, she was alone with nothing to do.

Maybe Gary had been right. Maybe she should have let him brew her tea and draw her a bath. She doubted there would be anything good available on the room service menu but she could have gone for some champagne—it had been one hell of a day.

She was standing near her bedside table, staring down at the confusing directions for making a call to the room service line taped to the phone, when gentle knocking broke the silence.

Slowly walking— _not running, not running_ —Selina caught a quick look of herself in the mirror on her way to the door. She looked good. A little tired, maybe, but good.

“Tom!” She was back on, voice energetic and pulse rapid as he stepped past her into the suite, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Madam President.” The last time he had seen her, just hours ago that morning, he had asked her what she was. _What are you?_ It had glued itself to the inside of her ear, on repeat, an echo that she was struggling to shake. _I’m the goddamn future President of the United States of America you conceited fucker._

“Are you here to ask for an apology?” She was thankful her heels were already off when she was able to quickly pad across the carpet into the kitchen, ready to see what drinks the staff had stocked the fridge with. “Cuz you aren’t gonna get one from me.”

“Selina-” She bent in half, sure he was staring at her ass as she glared into the empty fridge.

“I’m not kidding, Tom.” A sardonic laugh tutted out of her as she abandoned the kitchen and headed for the bar, “If you didn’t want your glory hole of a secretary to tell people that you were fucking her, then you probably shouldn’t’ve fucked her!”

“First of all,” As she made to pass him Tom caught her wrist, his large hand was soft on her as he gave a slight tug that pulled her toward his looming figure. Man, he was a tall drink of water, “you know perfectly well that Michelle was my chief of staff.”

“I didn’t-” He always managed to pull the best stuttering out of her. It was his perfect eyes, clear and crystalline even as he glared down at her. Selina felt no concern or fear for her safety, she’d been in vulnerable enough positions with Tom James to know that she was safe in his hold.

“And secondly,” His free hand reached up to cup her cheek even as he softly taunted her, “I didn’t realize how _hurt_ you were, Selina.”

“Hur-hurt?” His thumb stroked a smooth line across her cheekbone.

“Well I can only assume you wanted to set fire to my life because you were feeling…is ‘scorned’ the word I’m looking for?” His voice was a low rumble of sarcasm and righteousness. It was fucking sexy.

He had barely touched her and she could already feel herself getting wet.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” This would lead to fucking, they both knew it. But still, she couldn’t have him thinking he had the upper hand. Selina pulled herself out of his grasp and turned her back on him, heading to the minibar in the bedroom, “You were a problem that I found a solution to.”

“Don’t forget, Selina: I was your running mate once before, too.” She listened to him, his voice growing closer and closer, as she pulled a miniature bottle of vodka out of the bar, “I know that real solutions—in your camp—are only found when the problem stems from some deep chasm in your psychosis.”

“Oh is that so?” She tossed the twist-off cap in the general direction of the garbage can and tilted her head back to take a long swig.

“Most definitely.” He stood in the doorway to the bedroom, tall and broad and sturdy and handsome as ever as he watched her guzzle vodka. The problem with Tom was not his unpredictability, but rather his ability to look reliable when he was really just as much of a fuckup as she was. He was too good at her game, it got her hot.

“And just what do you think is the deep chasm in _my_ psychosis that led to your secretary accusing you of sexual misconduct, hm?” With another deep drink, the bottle was finished. She tossed it over her shoulder and heard plastic connect with the wall.

“You know very well,” He leered, stepping fully into the bedroom, “that me fucking Michelle drove you crazy with jealousy.”

“I know that you fucking your secretary led to your career exploding and that did _not_ drive me crazy with jealousy, Tom. Not one fucking bit. In fact,” She huffed a little breath as she stepped into his space, having to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact, breathing his air, and smirking up at him—so reminiscent of that times they had fought in the green room and again at her portrait’s unveiling—ready to jab her finger against his chest as she said, “seeing you unravel today, well, that made me more excited than a pedophile at a playground.”

“You like seeing me lose control, Selina?”

He took a step closer to her, so that their bodies pressed together and she could feel the warmth of him even through his clothes.

“Yeah-”

“You miss seeing me, how did you put it, ‘unravel?’”

“Yeah.” He took another step, one that forced her to move backwards. The action sent her knees folding against the bed, and she willingly let her weight fell back on the bed with a bounce that was interrupted by Tom flattening himself above her.

“Then shut the fuck up.” He planted his lips on her, cutting off his own grumbling with a consuming kiss. She didn’t bother fighting for dominance, she opened her mouth with the willing plan that Tom would take control, that he would devour her. She wanted to be overwhelmed by him.

Tom’s mouth was hot and hard against her, a clash of his frustrations and his want. He was nearly gasping when he finally pulled away, one hand buried in her hair and the other cupping her breast through her dress. Blue storms pinned her in place, but still she quipped,

“Shut up?” Her laugh was shaky, “Don’t ask for that which you won’t receive.”

“Don’t quote fake maxims, Selina. Save that for the pros.”

He moved to kiss her again, but she tilted her chin to the side so that his open mouth caught her jawline in an improvised, wet suck. The damp heat of him sent flutters throughout her entire body and she tried to control her writhe beneath him. The fucker would give her a hickey if she wasn’t careful.

“Uh fun fact Tom,” She did an annoying, folksy voice and felt his fingers travel down from her breast to squeeze at her waist, “you coulda been my running mate if you weren’t such a stubborn fuck.”

Her words seemed to spur on his hands as they roved beneath her, fumbling for her zipper and jerking it down as he scoffed against her skin.

“If _I_ wasn’t such a stubborn fuck?” Hot breath pressed against her jaw, fogged her brain as her arms and torso were exposed.

“Yeah,” She could hear herself buying time as he slipped his thumbs into the waist of her panties and pulled them and her dress away in one last shove. “Yeah, if you would’ve endorsed me like you said-”

“Oh Selina, don’t be such a child!” His irritation lifted his voice and removed his touch. She was spread beneath him in nothing but a black bra as he leaned his weight on his elbows, genuine exasperation forming on his brow. “Today wasn’t about that and you know it! I was fucking someone else and I was getting the better of you and you couldn’t handle it. I was winning and you had to undermine me. That’s it!” His accusations always managed to sound more like a long-winded complaint of him having to explain her motives to her—as if she had ever asked him to mansplain what he thought her MO was.

“Oh like you wouldn’t have done the same to me!” She slapped a hand against his chest, “You tried to steal my presidency! You said I raped you on national TV! You weren’t gonna give me a spot in your cabinet, you fucking prick! Did you really think I was going to let you get away with that?” She jabbed her finger into his chest, surprised when it was enveloped by his much-larger hand.

“I thought we had an understanding now that-”

“Now that what?” She was seething as she yanked her hand out of his grasp, the physical foreplay had been stalled but she was as aroused as ever as she snarled at him, “Now that you told me you loved me as a way to fuck up my campfire speech? Get the fuck outta here, you know that’s bullshit.”

“So what? Now we’re even, Selina? Is this how you call a truce, by ruining my career? My marriage?” His vexation was evident, but so was the hard length of him pressed against her thigh.

“I wasn’t the one who stuck my dick in fake-Amy, Tom. Ya managed that all by yourself.” Even lying beneath him, she was proud to hold her own. She always had the talent for clinching arguments with undeniably hard truths.

The aloofness in her insults seemed to render him speechless.

“You’re insane.”

“I believe you called me a cunt, actually. Not a lunatic.”

He laughed, finally, letting some of the anger out of the room. The tension was still there, a constant static between them that sizzled when he stroked his thumb across the bony line of her collarbone.

“You looked so fucking proud, Selina, to bring me down.” It was a simple observation as one thumb hooked beneath her bra strap and slid it down her shoulder.

“You looked fucking ridiculous, pacing between the two TVs like a caged animal. What’d ya think? The second screen was gonna show a montage of Michelle teasing you before you finally put the moves on her?” She caught her tongue between her teeth as he reached beneath her and unclasped her final scrap of clothing. “What’d she do first? Offer to blow you under your desk or mount you on the campaign bus?”

Tom paused with his hand holding onto the material of one cup, ready to tug it away. Her chest rose and fell, skin brushing against his in the movement, as he considered her with a level stare that turned into a leer.

“For your information,” The bra was pulled away and her nipples tightened as his other hand slid down to where she was dripping between her thighs, his voice was a purr against her ear, “I ate her pussy in a limo, like a gentleman, after a black tie gala.”

One long finger stroked the length of her—back and forth, back and forth, in slow, teasing strokes—and she hissed in pleasure when he finally dipped into her with two fingers; his smug mouth tweaked into a smirk as he stared down his nose at her flushed face.

“What was the benefit for?” Her voice was strangled as he pressed deeper into her, so that she felt the width of his knuckle stretching her when he crooked his fingers inside her, “Hill Rats Too Frigid to Cum?”

“It was the Leukemia Ball, actually.”

“Ah, I see.” Her nonchalance was broken when he beckoned his fingers within her and she gasped, no longer able to withhold how much pleasure he was giving her. His eyes were alight as he did it again, breaking her final resolution into another moan, “Wanna show me-”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

His lips captured hers, then her nipples, then the space between her belly button and her trimmed pubes, then finally her dripping cunt. There was no hesitation or taunting left to do. He captured her in one hot, long kiss. She felt as if every nerve in her body was on edge, centered and focused on his flat tongue licking up the length of her before sliding to delve in and out of her. One proficient hand kept her spread so that he could tongue fuck her, his nose pressed just-off her clit in a teasing cyclical pattern as he nudged as far into her as his mouth would allow him.

“Jesus fucking _Christ!_ ” She squirmed enough for him to have to flatten his forearm across her hips, keeping her still and trapped as he used his other hand to slide three fingers into her while his lips enclosed her clit.

As his fingers pulsed into her, he used his tongue to tap and his lips to suck at her clit. It was too much, an onslaught of sexual efficiency that curled her toes and cranked her neck backwards. “Oh Tom, oh-oh-oh- _oh!_ ” His teeth tenderly sliding across her clit was her undoing, sending her into convulsions as he licked at her juices until she sighed in relaxed ecstasy.

He had managed to tongue fuck the tension right out of her. Even against the stiff hotel mattress, her shoulders were looser than they had been in weeks, the tightness in her lower back had unclenched too.

As she recovered, welcoming deep breaths into her lungs, he rested his head against her taut stomach. They were both sweaty and his face was slick from her pleasure. Her arms were above her head, she thought about stroking his thinning hair but needed a minute to collect herself.

When she was sure her voice would not waver, she said what she had been thinking for years, since her portrait unveiling.

“I gotta ask you something.”

“Alright.” Warm air tickled her bellybutton.

“Why’d it take you so long to fuck me? What’re you scared of me or something?” The more she spoke, the more annoyed she grew, and the more her words gained speed, “You’ve known me for years—you knew Michelle, for what, six weeks before you were elbow deep in her twat? And your wife, Allegra, you couldn’t have known her-”

“Alethia.” His head shifted so that his cheek was no longer pressed to her skin and, instead, his chin brushed her stomach. When she glanced down, his gaze was measured, blank but curious.

“Fucking whatever, Tom, like I give a flying fuck what your wife’s name is.”

“I wasn’t scared of you.” He said, voice even, “I admired you.”

“Oh don’t try to sell me that shit, I had enough of that in middle school. ‘Tommy won’t try to fuck you because he respects you too much,’ come on, Tom!”

“Selina, I’m being serious.” With that, he settled his cheek back against her stomach. She wondered if it was easier for him to be honest when he didn’t have to make eye contact with her, “I admired you, when I met you…Well, I’d never been attracted to a woman I admired before. I wasn’t exactly making fast moves on Ruth Bader Ginsburg at this point either.”

“That’s very flattering.”

“No—I don’t see you the same way I see Ruth Bader Ginsburg-”

“Thank fuck.”

“No, I only meant to say that you were on another level than the other women on the hill.” He looked at her again, chin digging into her stomach as his eyes grew serious in their attempt to convince her of his honesty, “How does one ask Selina Meyer out on a date, hm? And you were married for Christ’s sake. Then you were my President, my running mate, my competition…”

“Alright. Alright, I get it. I think you’re full of shit, but I get it.”

“I’m full of shit?” He sat up, his bottom half was still dangling over the edge, entangled with her weak limbs.

“Yeah, Tom, you are.”

“Alright, tell me why then.” He pushed away from her, standing up, beginning his pacing and running his hand over his face in his familiar show of agitation, “If you’re so positive I’m full of shit, you tell me why.”

“Your ego couldn’t handle me!” She raised herself to rest her weight back on her elbows, “Maybe you could’ve back then, when we first met. But after you lost-”

“And you lost.” He shot back, pacing stilled but voice no longer defensive. He was listening.

“Yeah, after we lost…After we lost, I was too much of a sore spot for you. I was a reminder of what you could’ve had. You lost everything and resorted to stereotypes—why go for someone my age who would challenge you when you could have someone my daughter’s age who would worship you?” There was no mocking in her tone. It was simply the truth. She was naked in her hotel suite fresh off an orgasm from his mouth, he was fully dressed but with no career or happy marriage because of her manipulations, and she was telling him the brutal truth.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry?”

“No.” She shrugged. “I know you’re not. If we could go back and do it all over, you’d still try to steal the presidency.”

“And you’d still inveigle Michelle into creating this shitstorm.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but she nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Yeah I would.”

“Alright.” He said.

“Alright.” She accepted.

She watched as he began plucking the buttons of his shirt free. His forehead shined, his chin was still damp from her, his hair stood at odd angles, there were sweat stains beneath his pits, and she still found him sexy as all hell.

Blue eyes found her gaze and the corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgement.

“Why don’t you take a picture?”

For once, she found herself too caught up in admiration to manage a biting retort.

“Ya look good, Tommy.”

“You don’t look half-bad yourself.”

“No?” She mock-posed, one hand beneath her head and one on her naked waist. She couldn’t help but revel in the way her antics amused him, made him laugh, and softened the deep lines in his face. She couldn’t help but enjoy the way they slipped from devastating truths to flirting in seconds because it was all there for them, just on the surface, accessible and true and real.

“Not one bit.” His belt hit the floor and his hands were quick at his zipper.

“Why don’t you come fuck me then?”

“Ask and ye shall receive.” Warm skin pressed her back into the mattress and she hugged him closer, hands reaching around to hold his back, to press him harder against her.

“Fuck maxims.”

“That one technically originates from the proverb ‘seek and ye shall find.’”

“Shut the fuck up.” She murmured into his mouth, eagerly rolling her tongue against his, sucking face like a teenager getting the most in before curfew.

Their easy banter slipped into the back of her mind as he devoured her again. His touch was everywhere—her hair, her arms, her stomach, her breasts, the back of her knees, her cunt, her mouth—then just on her waist as she spread her legs for him and he pressed inside her. She was still slick, wet enough for it to run down into her crack, and he slid deep with one slow, teasing thrust.

“ _Selina._ ” Her name was a garbled exhale that ruffled the hair sticking to her sweaty neck. She kissed him, clamping her eyes shut against the watery emotion forming there, ignoring the way his hug sent a surge of desperate longing through her bones.

Tom propped himself on his knees and an elbow, keeping one bruising grip on her waist as he fucked her slowly, deeply. His cock truly was a miracle, long and curved, hot and pressing perfectly inside her. The weight of him in her made her neck arch back on every forward thrust and her hips followed him on their own volition when he moved out of her. She chased each of his movements, eagerly rocking down onto him just as much as he was rolling into her.

They sweated against each other, huffing little _uhn, uhn, uhn_ noises into one another’s ears, stealing clumsy kisses as their movements grew more desperate. He made her feel like her soul was on fire, like she would die if she didn’t cum, like she had never needed another person so fully in her entire life.

 _Would this be their last time?_ The thought immediately haunted her and as much as she wanted to shove it away, she also ached to savor every detail she could manage to capture when her brain was being addled by his perfect dick. His hand tight in her hair, his wiry chest hair rubbing soft against her nipples, the way her legs could not entirely wrap around the width of his hips, the soft clicking noise of his breath falling out of him, the rhythmic pulsing of his cock when she managed to clench around him—she wanted to remember it all, she doubted she would have anyone fuck her as good as this again.

She was jerked from her own thoughts when he choked on a wet exhale. When she opened her eyes, she was floored by the look in his gaze. It was like staring into a mirror. No regret was written there, but the same yearning to hold onto the currently-forming nostalgia swirled around his pupils.

“What is this, Tom?” Her voice was shaky as her hips continued to push up to meet his, “Is this goodbye?”

“Shut up, shut up-” Blue disappeared in favor of pale wrinkles when he clenched his eyes shut.

She never was very good at taking orders.

“Is this goodbye, Tom?”

“It’s not goodbye,” His breath turned ragged as his thrusts roughened and his grip stiffened on her hip, “it’s not goodbye.”

Who was he trying to convince?

His furious kiss forced her mouth to widen. She came when he thrust his tongue inside to swipe at her tongue at the same time he managed a particularly well aimed thrust that she was pretty sure managed to nudge her cervix. With her vision blurring white and every muscle cramping over the tide of a sickeningly sweet orgasm, Selina released a keening mewl into his mouth and yanked her lips away to sigh in release.

“You’re beautiful.” Tom murmured, his brief kiss softer as he stilled inside her, still a hard and heavy weight, “Selina, you’re beautiful.”

If it was anyone else she would have told him she knew that—because she fucking knew that—but Tom wasn’t telling her just to tell her and he wasn’t just realizing that, he was speaking about something more than her. His compliment managed to sum up what she had not realized she had been trying to say when she told him he was good looking. They were beautiful, they made something beautiful, they could have been beautiful together.

“Roll over.” She directed, pushing against his chest until he followed her order without question.

He slipped out of her, brushing against her thigh and painting her with her own want in the transition to laying on his back. Then she straddled him, dexterous and limber, and guided him back inside of her. It was different from that new angle, the new angle that was old to him, their first time had been her on top. She reached for his hands and yanked them to her tits as she started to bounce, perching herself with her hands on his chest. Tom stared up at her, eyes wide and all-seeing, and she stared right back. No guards up, no bullshit, just him and her. She loved the sound of his pleasure, his breathy grunts and shaky groans.

With anyone else she might have clenched her eyes, allowed herself to shut out the emotion brewing between them, but she couldn’t do it, couldn’t let herself shove him away again.

Slipping a hand down to her own cunt, she kept her eyes locked on his as she rubbed herself into another shattering orgasm. She quivered atop him, body jerking toward him, shoulders crumbling forward, hair curtaining around her, as his name poured from his lips like a song she didn’t realize she was singing.

Digging his heels into the mattress, his thighs tightened beneath her, his thrusts grew frantic and then erratic, still Selina kept her hands on his chest as she rolled along with him. She was growing oversensitive, but did not want to release him yet, did not want him to finish anywhere but deep inside her.

“I’m cumming.”

The hot spurts of him within her were recognized before her mind was able to replay the moment and process his warning.

She collapsed onto him, moaned without realizing she had done so when he wrapped his arms tight around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He smelt sweaty, salty beneath the undertones of his clean cologne.

A flash of earlier that day, the disbelief and fury in his wide blue gaze— _What are you?_ —invaded her dark vision behind her closed eyelids. Her fingers gripped into him a little tighter.

Beneath her ear, his heart recaptured its steady rhythm. Like his voice, it was a low, steady thrumming.

“Alright?” He asked, gentle fingertips stroking up and down her spine, then up and down again, again, again.

Her eyelids were heavy, he was finally softening within her.

“Ya got me good, Tom.” Even to her, her voice sounded thin and unsure.

“You got me, too.” He admitted.

“Yeah.” She shifted, let him slip out of her, before rolling onto her back.

Lying naked, legs spread and Tom’s jizz dribbling out of her swollen cunt, she felt too well-fucked to move. She felt too-known to care to rearrange herself, to cover herself, to perform an act of 'ladylike behavior.'

A long lost memory resurfaced, one she truly thought had been repressed: standing in the hallway of an elementary school, thinking she might be pregnant, listening to Mike tell her that Leon had called her repugnant.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Then a memory that hurt, physically hurt her, like someone was pressing their thumb into a bruise on her heart, swam around her. Tom, a grimy kitchen, the idealization of an inaccessible lifetime together. A life outside of politics, no power-plays on a national level. The suburbs and all that they promised—coffee and sharing looks over the morning paper, Tom cursing over losing the remote in between the couch cushions, choosing paint chips or whatever normal people did when they wanted to redecorate the house. He had mentioned kids, even. A boy that looked like him, maybe, but who never grated on her nerves or whined or _guilted_ her like Catherine did.

Laughter bubbled between her ribs, painfully sharp and tight, before it spilled out of her in uncontrollable waves, until her cackles turned into high pitched wheezing and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Tom, steady and sure and capable, gathered her now-folded body into his grasp and held her in a warm hug which engulfed her entire being.

“You’re gonna be president.” She could hear him trying to comfort her in a soft voice her even as she lost it, crying into his shoulder with sobs just as hard as they had been at her mother’s funeral, “You’re gonna be president again, Selina. President Meyer.”

When she finally calmed down, her breathing steady and eyes dry, Tom took her face in his hands and kissed her, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He was too nice, her mind kept saying, too nice for how catastrophically she had just blown his life to smithereens. She did not voice that thought.

Then he slipped a hand down between her legs, asking her to trust him when she squirmed, and rubbed at her, gentle and careful at first, taking his time to kiss her again and again, until he was pulling another orgasm from her. This one was calm, an unhurried breaking of a crest that she quietly sighed through.

The tension in her body had fallen away again and her eyes were heavy. Tom positioned them so that he laid on his back and her head rested above his heart, one of his long arms was wrapped around her, the hotel blankets swathed them together.

“I’m sorry I went for that walk.” After so long of sitting in silence, his lips parting made an audible noise beneath their steady breathing.

“Huh?” Sluggish, she ignored the in-eloquence of her phrasing.

“That night, with your green shoes. I should not have gone for a walk.”

“No?” She sat up a little against him, shifted her weight so that she could turn her neck and search his eyes for where he was going with this.

“No, no. I should have gotten up the nerve to ask if your husband was home, or if you would have liked to come home with me.”

“I would have.”

“Yeah.” He agreed and nodded, pursing his lips in consideration before closing his eyes and resting his head against the pillow.

Selina relaxed against him, head resting more on his arm than his chest, and let her eyes close as well.

“I would have.” She mindlessly repeated.

“Yeah.” His hand rubbed her shoulder, carefully pulled her hair away from her skin so he could touch her more fully. Then again he sighed, “Yeah.”


	2. Five Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Years Later

**Five Years Later**

She lost the reelection. It hurt, it hurt enough for her to scream and yell and wipe her desk clean and sob beside her bed and scream again until her throat felt like it might bleed if she screeched that loud again.

 _Where would she go?_ That thought was a numbing cream on the raw wound of losing.

Catherine and Marjorie hadn’t spoken to her since same-sex marriage had been overturned. The apartment wasn’t an option. The Palm Beach house certainly wasn’t an option.

She got a suite at the Plaza Hotel in New York, told everyone it was a vacation. ‘Everyone’ was the group of no one’s in her mind that asked, the invisible entourage that asked what she had already told herself she would need to wonder, always one step behind her actualizations.

 _Gary was in prison._ She couldn’t touch that thought. _That_ thought made her nauseous, made her physically heave. There would be no visiting him. He wouldn’t want to see her. Gary, her Gary, would not want to see her. And she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t need him, she didn’t fucking need him, if anything he needed her to need him, but she didn’t. And she wouldn’t be visiting him, not alone anyways.

The hotel was lush. Nice. Quiet. There wasn’t enough room for her shit, but she had Michelle ship that off to storage. That was the girl’s last duty before she decided to crawl up Richard’s asshole. The hotel was expensive.

She lost fifteen pounds in seven months. Her clothes fit better than ever. In the mirror she saw a fragile woman, beautiful still, but fragile and growing old.

Dan reached out, he sold real estate. He came to her, pestered her about finances, showed her some options, fucked her over the hotel sofa, and then offered to put an offer on a modest apartment on the Upper East Side for her. She agreed as she mopped his cum off her lower back and pulled her dress back into place.

Ben died the following day.

The funeral was on a Thursday, it was more of a memorial than anything else; it was a tiny affair that she hated. She wore a Vera Wang dress and a veil, if Gary had been there he would have been able to offer her a handkerchief to dry her tears. Ben’s wives, all disgustingly and hilariously similar, cried in separate corners of the room.

“Those we have loved cannot be lost because they are always a part of us.” Kent, long haired and tan, spoke with great solemnity. A young, curvy brunette woman, with a baby snoozing on her shoulder, took his hand in hers when he returned to his seat, Selina noticed.

Tom showed up to the wake alone. They nodded at each other as soon as he entered the room. He approached all of Ben’s wives before finding her in the Cafferty’s kitchen, pouring herself another glass of wine.

The kitchen felt too small, suddenly, as if his presence had sucked all the air out of it.

“How are you?”

She flinched at the question, unsure how to answer. When she looked up at him he nodded, folding his lips together.

“I see.” Then, “Would you like to come home with me?”

“Won’t your wife mind?” She looked into her wine when she asked it. Even as her heart raced at the question, her surface was still numb, taught with loss and disappointment.

“I’m divorced.”

At his words, she looked up from her glass—not realizing she was searching for a hint of a lie in his eyes until she found nothing but the truth.

“Sorry.” What else was she supposed to say to that? Thank god? Finally? Fuck me, please?

“It’s better than _widowered_.” He quipped.

“Is it?”

“For our daughters, yes, I think so.” It was chiding, but still that kind smile stayed around the edge of his mouth. “What do you say, Selina? Wanna come home with me?”

A memory rolled to the surface, of a hotel room some months before she had won on election night. To their sweaty bodies pressed together, an embarrassing breakdown in his arms, and then that admission—he regretted it. The night of the green shoes, he had wanted to ask her to come home with him. Things might have been different. She might not have been president if he had asked then, but what was the harm of that now?

“Yeah, alright.” Smiling felt foreign and uncomfortable in the muscles of her cheeks that pushed against her ears. “Alright, yeah, Tom. Let’s go home.”

Blue eyes looked warmly down at her. He reached an arm out, shrugged it around her shoulders, and pulled her close to him. A chaste kiss was pressed and held to her hair before she felt his head tilt and his cheek rest atop her head.

“Yes, Selina. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too terribly depressing! I really needed some closure for these two, they were made out to be these great figures in each others lives and I think they both recognized that. It's probably very out of character for season seven Selina (and very self sacrificing of Tom), but I was trying to mesh her personality with the earlier seasons into this. I also thought that if Michelle outing him finally forced Tom to retire from politics, he might have turned into a half-decent person for the woman he loves. (And yes, I really am convinced he loves her.)
> 
> Anyway, I'm obviously still healing from that finale! But I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts, so if you'd like to drop a quick word in the comments that would be very much appreciated!


End file.
